


levitating cause we want to (after midnight we could feel it all)

by thispapermoon



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Featuring a Night Gown, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hecate Hardbroom and the case of having too many Emotions for her lil bat body, Hicsqueak, Pippa Pentangle is a pent-angel, Post s2 finale, Two witches in love, and One (1) Dense Witch, and That Damn Pocket Watch, especially true in this fic, happy endings, magical explosions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 14:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14167131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thispapermoon/pseuds/thispapermoon
Summary: She allows herself to hang suspended, to dissolve into nothing - into magic - which is to say, into everything. For a time she twirls calmly in the soft dappled twilight of neither here nor there, delighted to give over the weight of her body, delighted to let herself succumb to the ease with which the spell works its way through her every cell.****Hecate savors the feel of her returned magic. But it might just be harder to readjust than expected.





	levitating cause we want to (after midnight we could feel it all)

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot get over how soft, soft, soft Hecate's face is as she transfers away after her last scene with Mildred in the finale. How slowly she curls her fingers and fades into that transfer, savoring every moment of it. Soft, and relaxed, and doin' quite a number on my little heart. That is just the truth. 
> 
> Title is from Levitation by Beach House

It feels so good. The slow roll of her wrist, the gentle quirk of her fingers, the feeling that washes through her body as she melts away.

The astonished look on Mildred Hubble’s face as she goes.

She allows herself to hang suspended, to dissolve into nothing - into magic - which is to say, into everything. For a time she twirls calmly in the soft dappled twilight of neither here nor there, delighted to give over the weight of her body, delighted to let herself succumb to the ease with which the spell works its way through her every cell.

Slowly she spins into being in her chambers, equally pleased to revel in the simple way the floor presses against her feet, solid and grounding. Hips loosen, shoulders soften, eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as everything within her unwinds, as if eased by a large swig of witches brew.

After a day where sharp terror had sucked her down to icy bone - after the magickless, gaping void had left her barren - this release back into the commonness of _being_ leaves her nearly delirious. Floating, unfurling, tranquil - and yet awakened - all at once.

The noise from party below wafts through the castle, dampened from here, heightening the relief that she’s been granted a reprieve to steal away and be alone. Ada assures her nobody will miss her. And for once she doesn’t mind.

Instead she reaches up and slides the pins from her hair, one by one. Holds her gaze in the mirror as she does so. Watches how her fingers move to loosen the dark curls from their confines, to stroke them down and over her shoulders, dark eyes watching dark eyes. There’s an illicitness to it. This strange desire to do everything by hand, to reserve, to reconnect. Magic, _her magic_ , hums and warms its way through her once again. And it’s enough to know she has it, to simply hold it within herself, to feel the way it moves, sparks, and tugs low inside her belly.

Slowly, she begins to work at the buttons on her blouse, easing them apart, letting the shirt gape open as she disentangles her timepiece and drags it over her head, letting it it sit heavily in her hand, the chain cool where it spools in the cradle of her palm.

It had been a boon to her as she was freezing.

As spindly fingers come up to trace the engraved patterns on the metal shell, she thinks of the way she had held it earlier, as ice had raced through her, stealing her magic and stilling her limbs. She’d clutched at it then, both hands pressing it to her stomach - as if such simple sentimentality could crack open a secret light from within and warm her, restore her, restore them all.

Her fingers find and press the crown and it clicks open. She feels the tug within her again, her magic moving through in swirls and swoops as she looks down at the small photograph tucked within the rim of the top lid. No matter how many times the hand has ticked round and round, no many hours have faded to years, to decades, she’s kept it close. Near as anything can be to her heart. There’s a tingling across her back and she lowers the lid once more, brings the piece to her lips, presses a single gentle kiss against the metal, warm from her hand. Lets her eyes flutter shut, lets herself have just one moment. Lets herself imagine.

Opening her eyes she carefully lays the watch on her dressing table, returns her gaze the mirror, reaches up to slip the black blouse from her shoulders, down and off her wrists, unhooks her long skirt and watches it fall to the floor. Watches the pale curve of her own body in the mirror through the slanted late-afternoon sun. She removes her under garments, eyes slipping away then, and reaches for her robe, pulling it around her, tying the belt gently, snug against her waist. It feels indulgent, the way it brushes her bare skin, and she’s suddenly conscious of the weight of her hair against the thin fabric where it flows in a dark mass down her back.

Hanging her clothes with careful fingers feels like an indulgence as well. Knowing she could use magic. Keeping it inside herself instead, like a secret. She shivers a bit, turns and pulls down the bed covers before slipping in and letting her muscles settle into disuse - the shiver turning to shudder at the way her body feels naked beneath her robe and beneath the sheets. Warm and languid. A private feeling. And yet, a freeing one.

Despite the October half-light that still filters through the windows, she feels her head growing heavy, eyelids pulling down. She wants to leave this day behind. Remember nothing but the gritty way the sun looks just now, catching dust and turning it pale where it hangs in the air. The way her body lies suspended on the bed. The gratification that comes as every heartbeat pumps magic through her veins.

Settling on her back, she slips one hand between the folds of her robe to rest against the flesh of her stomach, feels the rise and fall of each breath, the soft skin beneath her finger tips.

She falls asleep and does not dream.

______

In the night she awakens gasping.

The darkness of the room presses down around her, squeezing the air from her chest, pinning her to the bed as magic flares hot and sick in her stomach. Forcing herself upright she clenches her fingers into the edge of the mattress as her world spins and heaves, shuddering as pain slices through her at the effort of keeping her magic from surging unbidden from within.

On legs that hardly hold her upright, she rises, stumbling a bit as she waves a hand and lights the fire, only to squint in the dim light, pain increasing with every movement. She tries to gather her bearings. Tries to breathe.

But the power of her magic flaring within her is too much and she doubles over, hands on knees, eyes watering, heart compressing and compressing and compressing. She needs relief. Needs it now.

By the time she’s transferred herself to various locations around the room twice a dozen times the magic is no less and she’s only succeeded in making herself dizzy and nearly ill. Untapped power claws at her insides and burns down her throat, inseparable from sudden panic.  

_It’s too much._

It’s been years since she’s lost control like this. Years since magic has consumed her, burning through her faster than she can burn through it. She thinks of the girls. Sleeping now, dreaming sugary dreams. Safe. _Safe._ Her body convulses as she staves off another rush. _Not safe for much longer. Unless -_

Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she makes towards her mirror. Determination to keep the girls safe, to keep the castle standing, tamps down on her pride enough to drown out the personal warning that play across her mind with every step.

_It’s the only thing to do._

So she mutters the spell and waits, transfers out and transfers in, and out-and-in, just to pass the time, just to hold it all at bay. Stops only when the world slants so far to one side that she sinks into the chair before the glass, desperately trying to push the magic off from where it constricts around her heart, her lungs, her throat. She knows her chances are slim, that it’s in the middle of the night, all the world sleeping. Still she trembles, clings to hope.

_Please._

She almost doesn’t believe it when Pippa appears in the mirror, hair down and eyes sleepy.

“Hecate - what -“

“It’s happening - it’s happening again - _Pipsqueak -”_

“But it’s been - “

“Years, I know. I - Pippa. I need -” Each word costs her dearly, magic sizzling around her, head aching, spine stretching, body too small, too useless a container.

“How long can you -”

“I can transfer you.” Their eyes lock. “Do you trust me to?”

“Yes,” Pippa breaths, her eyes never straying from Hecate’s. “I do.”

And it’s a relief, to dispel such a taxing amount of power, to focus it and pull, and pull, and pull, until suddenly Pippa’s standing before her, legs bare beneath her thin nightgown, hands reaching for Hecate as she sinks to her knees before her chair.

 _“_ When did it start?”  
  
Hecate tries to think back. Perhaps the very moment her magic had been returned to her, filling every vein, and nerve, and heartbeat. Yet ignored, discounted. It had felt so right, so perfect. She hadn’t thought about how it might flood her, consume her, fill her up and spill out over her edges so soon after her having just been wrung into nothing.  
  
She shakes her head, unable to summon words, to describe. Because she’d been _happy_. As happy as she could get: school restored, girls safe, Agatha thwarted once again. Warm with near affection at the thought of Mildred Hubble.  
  
She slams back against the back of the chair and grips Pippa tighter.  
  
“Is all right, Hiccup. Give it to me. Just like you used to.”  
  
“It’s too much. It’s _too_ much.”  
  
“No, it’s not. I can take it, I promise.”  
  
“But I’m so much now older - Pipsqueak - _please_ , there’s so much more of it now.”

“And there so much more of _me_ now, Hiccup - no longer such a Pipsqueak, am I? It’s alright. I know your magic. It knows me. It’s never hurt.” She runs her hands along Hecate’s arms to clasp her elbows, pulls her a little closer. “It doesn’t hurt. See?”

And Hecate wars with herself, wars with the power within her, with her memories. Of the first time she’d lost control at school and had sent sparklers ricocheting around the room.

_The pain of keeping it within nearly driving her mad._

_Gasping and shuddering she’d paced the room, the pressure in her chest nearly insurmountable. A tile had cracked beneath her shoe and she’d let out a cry, only to whirl around as her door had opened to reveal a wide-eyed Pippa._

_And surprise at the sight of her friend had rattled her last vestiges of control, her magic exploding out of her and slamming into the tiny blonde. Her own foolish shout as it struck, as if sound could travel faster than magic and take it back, recall it from the air to keep Pippa safe, to keep her whole._

_But Pippa had merely reached out, as if by reflex, and absorbed it. Eyes never leaving Hecate’s._

_They’d stood together shocked, Hecate’s magic momentarily quiet in surprise, mouth gaping, hoarse voice gasping around ragged breath for a reassurance that Pippa was not injured in any way._  
  
_And Pippa, always so solid, always so steady, had simply moved forward and taken Hecate’s trembling hands, reached out for Hecate’s power, now simmering once again into a boil, and pulled it into her own body, as if neutralizing it with her touch._

 _“It doesn’t hurt me. Are you okay?”_  
_  
No one had ever asked her is she was okay before._

_No one had ever held her the way Pippa did then, arms warm around her, fingers splayed reassuringly across her back._

And no one had done so since, she realizes now, as she allows Pippa’s arms to slip around her in that familiar way. As she allows herself to come undone, magic surging through her into Pippa’s skin.

Pippa’s forehead comes to rest against her own until they’re breathing the same air, breathing the same magic. And that same tug rises deep within Hecate, familiar and unfamiliar at at once. She whimpers, fingers digging into Pippa’s arms as she struggles to find relief, as the magic seems only to climb higher and higher within her.

She’s gasping now, lips nearly against Pippa’s - _if she could only get closer_ \- get close enough to get back to what they used to have, to return to a time where her power was half-grown, where Pippa could unburden her with a simple, kind embrace.

They’re kissing before she has a chance to fully comprehend her own desires.

Pippa’s mouth hot against her own, her hands strong against Hecate’s back, tugging her to the edge of the chair as she kneels between thighs. One hand leaving her back to travel up to lock into her hair, tugging as she makes a sound against Hecate’s mouth.

She doesn’t know how they stand, how they rise and stumble through the room towards the bed, only knows that there’s no magic involved. Only knows that her hands are running up under Pippa’s nightgown, finding no resistance, burning their way against soft flesh as Pippa pushes her own robe down and off her shoulders. They come back together, skin to skin, and the spill onto the bed, joined from mouth to hip, legs tangling, hands frantic.  

Still she itches to shed herself of this excess of magic, feels where it scorches through her, a growing, aching need. A need to be close to Pippa, _closer_ to Pippa. She knows she should wonder - worry that this is crossing a line, shattering a long held boundary - but it’s impossible when Pippa is moving against her like this, whimpering into her ear, into her mouth, into her neck.

Their fingers move lower until they’re tethered together in a way Hecate never dreamed could be a reality, pressing tightly, moving as one. Magic spins around them, surging through Hecate in a way she has never known, in a way that makes her thighs shake and her fingers curl more precisely against Pippa, makes her breath catch and stutter as she allows herself to finally, finally, _finally_ , let go.

It’s the sweetest thing she’s ever felt, the way her magic explodes out of her in a new way, the way Pippa rises to meet her, to accept it, to press back and catch her as she tumbles. She hangs in the balance of time and space once again. But this is _so_ much more than transferring. Headier, sweeter, more addictive.

She lies on her back and takes deep breaths. Feels Pippa in her arms. Feels as if a long held, unrealized weight has lifted - lifts further with each gulp of air, each lingering tremor that runs the length of her.

For a time she succumbs to the inability to think much of anything at all. Gives over her control to just simply existing in this space. Her hand feels warm against Pippa’s back and she smiles a little at that.

Aside from the small shuddering of shoulder blades beneath her palm, Pippa has gone completely still. Her head remains tucked into Hecate’s neck and she suddenly feels the warm drop of tears against her skin there.

It’s like being back in the ice. The cold coursing through her. Fear rising once again when her limbs suddenly won’t obey her frantic commands for the second time that day. Only to be broken as Pippa begins to brush kisses against each fallen droplet, lips spreading warm salt cross chilled skin - raising goosebumps, but bringing her to a thaw once more.

She moves a trembling hand up to Pippa’s face, brushes the backs of finger across a wet cheek, waits until Pippa raises her eyes and smiles tremulously up at her. She’s never looked more beautiful and Hecate shivers in full at how Pippa’s eyes glisten, at the affection that radiates from her as she pushes herself up to kiss Hecate properly, sweetly.

Pippa pulls back and settles with Hecate beneath her, entwining their fingers from where she sits gazing down with open affection. She bring up one set of hands and kisses her knuckles fondly, softly.

And Hecate doesn’t know what to say now. Doesn’t know how to navigate this new vulnerability and exposure, but craves it all the same. When Pippa pulls one pair of their hands up over Hecate’s head and leans down so their lips are inches apart, asks that question, that single question that has always been Hecate’s undoing - _are you okay -_ Hecate can only nod and close the distance between them. Takes her time with savoring the softness of Pippa’s lips and the gentle movements of her tongue.

Until Pippa kisses downward, over her shoulders, and her breasts, and down her sternum, nuzzling at her stomach and Hecate suddenly jerks beneath her, pushing at her until she pulls away.

“Please, it’s coming back. I don’t know why. I’m sorry - I -”

Pippa sits again, this time on the bed with Hecate’s thighs pulled around her and reaches for her hand.  
  
“What is coming back?”  
  
“The magic.” Hecate shudders as she feels it rising within her once more, tangy and desperate.  
  
Pippa looks at her surprised for a long moment and then presses her fingers to her mouth over smile.  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
“I can feel it - it’s going to be too much again soon, I can’t hold it back -”  
  
Pippa does laugh then, light, and breathlessly, and something else Hecate can’t place.  
  
“Hecate, I absorbed it all already. Earlier. Much, _much_ , earlier. You’re not having a magic spell, I think. I think you’re just -”

Pippa blushes and Hecate takes a moment to digest her words before doing the same.

 _Oh._  
  
They look at each other while Pippa traces gentle patterns on the inside of Hecate knee.  
  
“Do you like this?” Pippa’s voice is soft, genuine and caring in a way that makes Hecate’s eyes suddenly prick a bit as she nods. The flickering light of the still burning fire meets the soft gray of growing dawn. It casts Pippa in an ethereal glow, and Hecate feels the tug again, low and central and -

_Oh._

And Pippa’s smiling, giving her time, hands still soft against her skin, reassuring and yet arousing. _Arousing._  She blushes deeper still. Shuts her eyes and listens to her body. Finds the edges of her magic and un-entwines them from her desire, sorts them into the governable and the ungovernable, the familiar and the new. Or perhaps not so new, not where Pippa is concerned.

When she opens her eyes Pippa meets her gaze, eyes warm and dark with something that has Hecate urging her back down on the bed. They fall together once more and don’t part until a pinkish glow is streaking the sky outside the window.

Hecate shifts, languid, frowning sleepily as Pippa moves from her arms and out of the bed, blinking blearily as she tracks her figure as she makes her way to the window. Feels emotion rise within her at the way the light washes Pippa’s skin in a rosy hue.

But Pippa seems unconcerned at the exposure, looks back over her shoulder and offers Hecate a gentle smile before her gaze returns to the sky where gold begins to join the pink. Hecate rises and retrieves her robe off the floor, pulls it over her shoulders but leaves it tied only loosely, modest but unwilling to hide herself away completely. Open, and fragile, and vulnerable in a way like never before. And warm.

Warm skin. Warm heart. Warm magic.

Crossing to the dressing table and she lets her fingers close around the pocket watch, pulls it over her head and curls it tightly in her hand, anchoring herself on its familiar weight and shape. She imagines that each tick is her heartbeat. Steady. And strong. And true.

Feeling eyes on her, she looks up to see Pippa leaning against the window casement watching her once more, and Hecate can’t help but blush, can’t help but feel just a little shy. But when Pippa holds out a hand she goes to her, pulled in by a force stronger than magic.

And Pippa greets her with a kiss, fingers winding gently in the watch chain to pull her closer, eyes dancing with happiness when they part. And Hecate doesn’t know why she does it, only that it seems the thing to do - important in a way she cannot hope to express. Breathing in, she magicks the watch chain until it’s long enough to slip over Pippa’s head as well. Until they’re held within the silver strand, bound together.

 _Time_ , she thinks. _It’s well past time for this._

Pippa seems to understand, wraps her arms around Hecate’s neck and kisses her like they have all the hours in the world. And, Hecate supposes, they do now.

She pulls back and Pippa nudges their noses together before turning in her embrace and tucking herself against Hecate’s front so the timepiece hangs before them both. Pulls Hecate's arms around her waist so that she’s secured against her.

Together they watch the sun rise on a new day.

A new dawn.


End file.
